


Silverflint Drabbles

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, Wordcount: 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Drabbles written for Silverflint Drabble of the Week challenges (cross posted from Tumblr for posterity)





	1. Labor, Captive, Tradition

Silver’s lost. Held captive by an emerald beam of his captain’s eyes. The fruitless struggle to break the bonds that hold him. The sunlit glow of his captain’s skin. The drops of sweat, like dew drops on the hollow his neck.

Silver loves. Not in the traditional sense that would give you in ownership to another. Not like a chattel, not to “honor and obey,” not to belabor the point. Not “with my body I thee worship”. But yes, that too. He loves like Icarus loved the sun. He would be burned by it. He so wishes he would burn.


	2. Past, Honesty, Travel

Silver looks more comfortable in the saddle than the times they’ve tried to do this in the past and Flint hides a self-satisfied smile under the pretext of scratching his beard.

“You’re looking well up there,” he says as Silver adjusts the one stirrup that holds his foot.

“Honestly, Captain,” Silver huffs.  “Whoever thought this was an efficient way for a man to travel had no love for his own balls.”  The way the sun catches droplets of sweat above his collarbones makes Flint want to kiss him.

Flint laughs. “Luckily, I have nothing but love and respect for yours.”


	3. Red, Fault, Drought

The sea is blood-red, bathed in the glow of the dying sun. Flushed like Silver’s skin under the touch of Flint’s hands. His chest rises and falls with labored breath like the ebbing tide as he sinks his fingers into the star-bursts of freckles peppering Flint’s skin.

“You’re perfect,” Flint breathes into Silver’s neck. “There is no fault in you.”

And Silver gasps for air, drinking those words in like a man dying of thirst in the desert. His body has lived through a drought, but now Flint’s lips fall upon him like rain. He blooms like a desert rose.


	4. Owl, Horizon, Scream

A scream pierces the night’s veil like a scimitar’s blade. Perhaps an owl in search of nocturnal prey. Perhaps a banshee’s curse. Flint stirs, finding his arms empty. His chest is cool in the soft air that settles on his skin like the ocean’s breath. 

“Silver,” he says softly into the darkness. “Are you alright?”

Flint finds him soon enough by the heat of his body and wraps his arms around his torso, burying his nose in sweat-dampened curls. Silver’s eyes are fixed on an unseeable horizon.

“I am now,” he says as he leans back into Flint’s warm embrace.


	5. Villain, Water, Book

The sea of humanity undulated and mugged for selfies in front of the spouting waters of Fontana di Trevi. Flint shouldered a small bachelor’s party out of the way as he and Silver approached the border. Someone threw a colorful gesture and an even more colorful Italian insult their way.

“Drown them?” Silver suggested.

“That’s rather villainous for our honeymoon, don’t you think?”

“Which shoulder does the book say we toss the coin over?”

“Left one,” Flint answered and planted a juicy kiss right upon Silver’s mouth while taking a gratuitous selfie. The coin plopped into the fountain: Arrivederci Roma!


	6. Story, Pistol, Rabbit

There’s absolutely no need for both of them to keep watch together, except that Silver isn’t going to waste another night away from Flint. Even if he can’t exactly touch him. Not the way he’d like. His hand caresses the butt of his own pistol, wishing it was a different knob gracing the inside of his palm.

“Look at you,” Flint teases. “Crouched down like a rabbit. Afraid something might swoop down from the skies to eat you?”

“A likely story, Captain,” Silver smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at Flint. “I’m much more likely to get eaten right down here.”


	7. Trust, Energy, Mother

“Ow, motherfucker!” the shout greeted Silver as he walked through the door. The corridor smelled like molten plastic and poor life choices. He found Flint in the kitchen, his own fingers in his mouth.

“What the hell did you do?” Silver tried not to laugh.

“Burned my fingers when I tried to take this shit out of the microwave,” Flint nodded at the instant meal.

“You call that dinner?”

“Who has the energy to cook these days,” Flint groused as Silver pulled his fingers into his own mouth.

“Trust me,” he mumbled around the throbbing fingertips. “I’m an excellent cook.”


	8. Pirate, Grace, Fire

“There was no dignity in it, no sense of grace,” Silver says as he looks overboard. The flapping sail, like licks of fire overhead, announces that the gods have granted them quarter. “To be stabbed and eaten? A senseless sacrifice.”

“What are you muttering about?” Flint’s voice is soft and his breath ruffles the curls right behind Silver’s ear. Or perhaps it is the returned wind.

“Sharks,” Silver responds. “To die in the service of piracy. They were our Iphigenia, slaughtered to summon the help of the Anemoi.”

“You’re mad from dehydration,” Flint says, chasing Silver’s curl with nervous fingers.


	9. Love, Tease, Haunted

The air conditioning was on at full blast and Flint found Silver inside, doing things with his tongue to an ice cream cone that were probably still illegal in thirteen states. 

“Are you going to share?” Flint asked. Silver drew his tongue from the bottom to the top of the cone and finished the show with a loud slurp. “You tease,” Flint smirked. “You don’t love me.”

“I’m haunted by the memory of today’s humidity,” Silver sighed.

Flint leaned over and bit into the remnants of the cone. “Me too,” he said, looking forward to being punished for his transgression.


	10. Blade, Record, Rock

Flint’s body is hard as a rock, buttressing Silver against the tree, while he pants helplessly, open-mouthed into Flint’s looming face. Flint’s eyelashes tremble in the wind like the wings of a moth, and Silver can make out every bristle in his neatly groomed beard.

“For the record,” Flint says, his hips pressing deeper against Silver’s, “not every man would take this opportunity to simply admire the beauty of your eyes.”

Silver’s blade lies discarded on the ground. “For the record,” he says, “I was hoping that wasn’t the only thing you were planning on admiring.”

Flint’s kiss is inebriating.


	11. Moonlight, Map, Paint

Silver doesn’t need the moonlight to see Flint. He’s already mapped out the constellations on his skin with his fingers, with his tongue. They are a star map imprinted in his mind’s eye, unshifting, eternal, and indelibly his to hold no matter what comes next. He paints Flint’s skin with the brush strokes of his own lips, leaves it pink and chafed from his ungroomed beard, peppers his thighs with crescent imprints of his fingernails. Flint think he can escape Silver like a receding tide. But there is no place he can go where Silver would not gladly follow him.


	12. Wine, Paper, Lock

“Lock the door,” says Flint, eyes never lifting from the papers piled atop his desk. Silver slides the latch into place, his ear warmed by the subtle clicking noise that promises privacy.

“I brought wine,” Silver pulls the bottle from behind his back. “It’s Rioja,” he adds as Flint hums his approval. “I also brought cheese,” Silver grins slyly as he approaches the desk.

Flint’s body turns towards him, thighs falling akimbo while Silver settles into the exposed lap. “Mmmmm what else did you bring?” Flint purrs.

Silver places the small jar of oil in the center of Flint’s desk.


	13. Snow, Gun, Remorse

Some things weren’t far enough away to have been wiped from his memory, yet some things didn’t leave as much of an impression. He didn’t remember the last time he saw snow. Yet, he did remember the last time he saw Flint. He remembered the very weight of that gun, and the oppressive jungle heat.

The flurries circled above his head as he grabbed the knocker and pounded it against the gate. He shook off the heavy shroud of remorse and stuck out his chin in defiance as the door creaked open.

“Happy Christmas,” he said.

“Happy Hannukah,” Flint replied.


	14. Tactile, Impulse, Heavy

Land shifts beneath Silver’s weight as if he were still on the ship. The island’s humidity pressing heavily against his chest, like a demon straddling him in the night, and he can’t move. He awakens in a cold sweat, hand traversing the brief space between his and Flint’s body, a primal impulse to touch, to ground himself in reality. He wants to have this tactile memory always, of the way Flint’s skin feels so warm against his palm, the way the bumps of the ugly scar across Flint’s chest kiss the pad of his Venus mount.

He’s safe. He’s home.


	15. Contempt, Pray, Glass

Flint's composure shatters like glass when he's alone with Silver. Gone is the practiced look of disdain and contempt, replaced with naked tenderness. Desire swells as he lowers himself to his knees in prayer, hands gently lowering Silver's breeches. He buries his face in the familiar musk of Silver's scent.

“Captain,” Silver’s voice catches in his throat, his fingers seeking purchase on Flint’s shaved skull.

“I’m here,” Flint speaks his last words for a while. His mouth sliding down Silver’s shaft as a moan escapes him. Silver fills his senses, as he fills his mouth, as he’s filled his world.


	16. Light, Music, Letter

Flint can barely keep his eyes open, the letters blurring before him at his futile attempt to keep reading by the dying light of the candle. Laughter and music flit upwards from below where Silver must still be holding court. He is a consummate host, as ever. Flint grumbles as he wraps his wool blanket tighter around his shoulders. The room grows cold as the night thickens.

Flint doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, a pair of arms is wrapped around him. The book is on the floor. Silver’s lips press a warm kiss behind his ear.


End file.
